


Alexander

by SherlockianGirl14



Series: Alexander [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-26
Updated: 2014-02-05
Packaged: 2018-01-10 01:30:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 10,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1153173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockianGirl14/pseuds/SherlockianGirl14
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Reichenbach<br/>When Irene Adler gets back in touch, she has a surprise. And Sherlock has a son. How will he react to this news- will he be a good parent?</p><p>Basically my fluffy Shirene resulting from boredom. I want this to be canon so much...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So basically this chapter is just an introduction- you don't really have to read it if you don't want to...  
> Hope you like it guys :)

**Chapter 1**

    “Mycroft,” Sherlock said, warningly. “Look, if this is about-”

    Mycroft held up an image, waving it, in a slightly intimidating manner, in Sherlock's face.

    “What-”

    “Irene Adler,” Mycroft replied, crisply. “Ring a bell, dear brother?”

    Sherlock cursed under his breath. “Of course it does, Mycroft, you know that,” he muttered to himself. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mycroft's face. Expectant. He had heard. He just wanted to hear again. “Of course I remember her, Mycroft. How do you expect me to forget? I only saw her three and a half years ago!”

    “Yes, but then that was only fleetingly. And besides, she hurt you. I'd have thought you would have deleted that run-in from your mental hard drive by now.” Mycroft smiled. The expression he wore caused Sherlock to snap his head up and glare.

    “Oh, believe me, Mycroft. Those meetings were not as fleeting as you believed at the time. And I'm very surprised that you still say that- that she... 'defeated me'. She was kidnapped and sent to her execution as a result of _me_ defeating _her!”_ Sherlock snapped, his temper flaring, before he calmed himself, smirking. “I saved her life in Karachi. I think it would be acceptable to say I had the upper hand in that situation, Mycroft.”

    “Yes, thank you for that, Sherlock. We could have done with her... Out of our way.” Mycroft cleared his throat, uncomfortably. Sherlock rolled his eyes. He knew his brother wouldn't really have a woman executed, regardless of her crimes. However, he was telling the truth in that he wouldn't have cared in particular whether or not The Woman had died three and a half years ago.

    “Anyway, have you summoned me here just to scold me for saving her, or is there actually a purpose to this discussion?”

    “She has been in touch. She... wanted to see you.”

    Sherlock stared at him for a moment, his mouth slightly open in surprise. Then, he frowned. “ _You?!_ I mean, she's been in touch with you, Mycroft?”

    “Charming.” Mycroft grimaced. “And yes, she has. As I said, in regards to meeting with you. She asked to meet you at 9pm at-”

    “Tell her 8:30. Angelo's.” Sherlock smiled gleefully.

    “Sherlock, I _said...”_

    “Tell her, Mycroft.”

 

*****

 

    “Dressed up?” John asked, looking round to see Sherlock wearing a grey silk shirt, pressed black trousers, and a blazer. His curls were still slightly damp from his shower, and he smiled in a way that John could almost describe as... nervous. If he didn't know Sherlock, that was. Of course.

    “Yes. I'm going out.”

    “Where?”

    “Angelo's.”

    “Why?”

    “Dinner.”

    “Dinner? With?”

    “A woman.”

    John's mouth gaped for a moment at the thought. He briefly thought back to The Woman, with her innuendos and suggestive glances. _No._ He thought. _She's dead. Definitely._ “A woman?”

    “Indeed. Now, if you would excuse me, I have a date to keep.”

    “Wait, so now it's a date?” John asked, smirking. He was beginning to enjoy this.

    “Oh, for God's sake. Appointment, meeting. Whatever...” But then Sherlock smiled. Why tell John a lie? This was Irene. This was not a business meeting. “But you can call it a date if you want to, of course. It may be the truest name for it.” With that, he smiled cheerily at John and began to walk down the flight of stairs that would lead him to his waiting taxi.

    “wait a minute- Sherlock!” John yelled, but the consulting detective was already gone.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The date...  
> I have no idea what to write here...  
> 

**Chapter 2**

     “Sherlock, my friend, what can I get for you?” Angelo greeted warmly. “You on a date? Come on, who are you with?”

    Sherlock frowned. Now he was here, he suddenly felt nervous... In fact, he almost felt sick. He was going to see The Woman again, after all this time... “Angelo, hi. My... my friend will be here soon, okay. If I could just...” Sherlock made his own way to a table, and sat with his eyes closed and his hands steepled under his chin.

    He wasn't early- Sherlock would never arrive early. In fact, he'd usually be at least five minutes late to anything, to show the other people who was in control of the situation. He groaned inwardly for giving Irene an easy first point.

    As Sherlock heard the door, his eyes shot open.

    “Hello again, darling,” a voice purred to him, a smile on the red lips.

    “Hello, Irene.” Sherlock smirked slightly to himself. She looked beautiful, as ever. Rather over-dressed for Angelo's, but he didn't mind. Mindlessly, he pulled out her chair and allowed her to be seated.

    “Angelo!” he called, and the other man scurried eagerly to his table. “Uh... a bottle of your most expensive red wine, please,” he said, nodding at Angelo, who grinned back.”

    “Early, are we?”

    “Late... Are we?” Sherlock responded, seating himself. “You know, I thought I'd let you score the first point by being on time, but thinking about it, we're even. I picked the venue, and the time. So perhaps you could say it is two- one to me.”

    “Sherlock,” Irene replied, looking a little softer. “This isn't a game. No need to score points. I am late because the traffic wasn't awfully good, no other reason. I hope you weren't considering being late either... Or I may just have to punish you,” a wicked smile spread over Irene's lips. They enchanted Sherlock. Not that he'd ever let on. That would be losing and whatever Irene said, he wasn't ready to quit the game just yet.

    “Oh? I thought we weren't playing games?”

    “I'm not playing, Mr. Holmes. Believe me.”

 

*****

 

    Sherlock smiled. While most of the other diners were enjoying a straightforward conversation, both he and Irene knew that theirs would never be anything of the sort. That would be a boring prospect for both of them, and knowing that each word could be loaded with double meanings and riddles made their time together all the more interesting. Yet neither hesitated before responding. They were both far too intelligent to need more than a mere moment to think. To pause would be to admit defeat and so, when Angelo returned with the wine, he found himself utterly baffled by their coded conversation- and that was saying something, considering that he was totally used to Sherlock.

    They both broke off after a few moments of Angelo's puzzled face, and allowed him to pour them a glass of wine and leave the rest of the bottle standing in the centre of the table, alongside a small floral arrangement. Sherlock smiled at him in an almost ordinary fashion... and from Sherlock, that meant the total opposite, that something was not normal at all. Angelo shook his head quietly, marvelling at the profound effect of this beautiful woman on Sherlock.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John finds out about Irene Adler. So he's in for a big surprise. What a shame the surprises aren't going to stop there...

**Chapter 3**

 “John, I'm back!” Sherlock called, smiling to himself. His friend was back at 221B for a week or so as Mary was abroad, with friends ( _do women really do that?_ Sherlock had thought. _Especially when they reach Mary's age!_ ) and Sherlock had to admit that it was nice to have John back for a while. The spare room hadn't been used since... well, since Sherlock's forged his death over two years ago, probably.

“How was... you dinner... date?” John yelled back strangely.

“Interesting. Very interesting. Oh, and John?”

“Yeah?”

“Sit down.” Sherlock called.

Sherlock smiled tensely at Irene and nodded to her to follow him up the stairs.

“Why?” John asked, suspiciously, but he complied a moment before the pair came into view. “Why, Sherlock? What is-”

“Hello again, Doctor Watson. How are you?” Irene smiled pleasantly at John, sitting delicately on the arm of Sherlock's chair. John watched in disbelief as the consulting detective calmly took her lead and sat, too.

“My... dinner date was very nice, thank you, John. Now-”

“You're dead.”

“Which of us.” Irene asked, smiling luxuriously at John and leaning slightly against Sherlock's frame. The contact was enough to make John's frown deepen considerably, the look of disbelief intensifying.

“You... Well. You. Um.”

Sherlock smiled. “Well, as you can see, John, Irene is alive and well. So, now that's settled-”

“Wait... No. Sherlock?” John smiled slightly, surprise still etched into his features. “Um. Just... Just one question Irene, before you go. Um... How? Did you survive? Because Mycroft said-”

“John, I know what Mycroft said. And he was right. He just hadn't considered the other possibility. He did mention it. And he was right. Only Sherlock Holmes could have fooled him. But... He was wrong. Because I most definitely _was_ able to lend a hand in Karachi,” Sherlock replied, his voice surprisingly soft.

“Look, Sherlock saved my life. I would have been beheaded,” Irene swallowed, looking a little uncomfortable, sad even. “He smuggled his way into their ranks, similarly to the way Mycroft did to free Sherlock from torture- oh, they thought it best not to mention that?” Sherlock rolled his eyes at this. “Well... He told me when to run. And where, as well. And I did.”

“And afterwards, what happened to you?” John asked.

“Well, he found me somewhere quiet to live for a while, I laid low...” Irene stated, in a voice that sounded an awful lot like she was talking to a 5-year-old.

“No... I meant more _directly_ afterwards...” John smirked slightly. Sherlock, who had been looking slightly bored with the topic by that point, snapped his head up to stare at John in a combination of annoyance and... _fear_. Irene, however, smiled in her usual manner.

“Dr. Watson, I believe you said just one question, and as much as I hate to hold you to that...” she cocked her eyebrows at him slightly, and he laughed nervously. Sherlock looked a degree more relaxed, but clearly still acknowledged the implied meaning behind what Irene had said. He chose not to argue with it- it would be easier that way. Besides, it was too late. John wasn't entirely stupid, as normal people went. He already understood.

“Oh... Um, I see. Well then, I'm rather tired, and I suppose you'll be getting back to... wherever your staying, and-”

“Oh,” Irene replied, looking John directly in the eye, a small frown creasing her brow line. “It's terribly late, Dr. Watson, and I think you'd rather agree that it would be safer for me not to get a taxi at this hour.” she cocked her head slightly, raising her eyebrows at John. The man did not reply, but simply shook his head in wonder and rose from his chair, muttering something illegible. He mumbled his good night and began to ascend the stairs to his room, his steps slow with shock, as though considering every step could help him avoid any more surprises. How wrong he was there...


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter goes from the next morning, after their date, to Sherlock seeing his son for the first time. I promise to try and make the next chapter a bit longer!! Please comment what you thought. :3

**Chapter 4**

 

 When Irene awoke the next morning, it was to the sound of voices in the living room. She rolled her eyes. Even she had to admit, this was going to be a big day. She sighed and, sliding out of bed, pulled on one of Sherlock's dressing gowns. She took her small bag off the hook on the back of Sherlock's door and removed her phone. Frowning, she texted Kate. _Is he okay? I should be bringing Sherlock soon.. I._

Irene chuckled to herself. She was worried! About having left him with Kate for the night. And yet somehow, she wasn't worried about how Sherlock would react. She probably should be.

 _He's fine. Will Sherlock be dressed as a vicar this time? K.S._ There was also a picture with the text, of him, sleeping soundly. Sent to reassure Irene, no doubt. The woman had definitely become much more wary since her run-in at Karachi.

Irene smiled to herself, pressing the phone to her lips for a few seconds. Then, she put the phone into the dressing gown pocket, before leaving the room.

“Coffee, anyone?” she smiled, her hands in the dressing gown pockets. She raised her eyebrows at the almost-empty cups on the worktop, and went to begin making herself one.

Sherlock silently handed her a mug of still-hot coffee.

“Now, boys. Is everything okay out here? I heard raised voices...”

 

*****

 

“Ah. Kate, is it? Hello again.” Sherlock nodded at Kate. The butler nodded at Sherlock. “Still hanging around Irene then? How did you find her?”

“Oh, I found her, Sherlock, dear.” Irene replied. “I knew she would welcome me back. She's probably the only one. Besides...” Irene smiled. “She's become accustomed to this kind of lifestyle, now.”

Sherlock shrugged and handed Kate his coat without a second glance at her. John muttered an apology and kept his, clearly uncomfortable in this new environment. Irene pointed casually to a room off from the main hall. Inside, a couple of leather sofas sat. The room looked similar to the one where they had first met, only smaller, not as grand.

“Nice place! Is it yours?” John smirked, sitting on one of the sofas. He looked relieved- probably the fact that Irene was actually wearing something, this time. She smiled at him.

“Yes. Not quite so impressive as my previous residence, you see. Still, it is nice, yes.” she sighed. “Four bedrooms. One for me, obviously. One for Kate. And a guest room.” she looked Sherlock directly in the eye as she spoke aloud her deliberate mistake. It was so obvious that even John looked puzzled and yet Sherlock went no further than that in his deductions.

“I don't understand. You said four rooms, did you not? Do you mean two guest bedrooms?” Sherlock questioned, his brow furrowed. He knew Irene would not make that mistake. But there was no other possible solution, surely?

 

***

 

“Now, Sherlock, there _is_ something actually. That I haven't mentioned, I mean. But no. There are not two spare rooms, Sherlock.”  
“Well, other staff then?” John offered.

“Nah,” Irene replied. “I'm meant to be dead, right? Not for long of course, we'll soon change that, but for now, no. Kate does everything, pretty much.”

Irene looked both men in the eye, her expression telling them to follow her, and walked from the room. She went up the stairs, pausing expectantly at the top, raising her brow as if she expected them to know just where to go. On cue, Sherlock paused for a moment before stepping towards a closed door. _Not a difficult deduction, all other doors open, just pushed to. This one conceals something not all guests (invited or not) are welcome to know about._ He smiled back at her almost sourly, looking slightly insulted at the simplicity of her challenge. Then, he pushed the door open.

The room was largish, with nice furnishings. Mostly wood, painted white. Some blue themes. Sherlock frowned. It wasn't the room in general; no, that was fine. A bit fancy of course, but...

One thing stood out to him. A low, small bed positioned against the middle of one wall. A slight mound in the centre, covered by a duvet. Sherlock found himself curious. He walked over to the bed and crouched down slightly, pushed the covers back a little to show the face of the tiny person asleep there. Somehow, he still didn't understand.

“Christ, Sherlock! I mean... Christ.” John muttered.

The child, looking no older than two, had perfect pink lips and a mop of deep brown curls.

The child looked just like Sherlock.  


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> IS SO FLUFFY I GONNA DIE.
> 
> Okay. Okay. Breathe.  
> I just finished writing it, sorry it's pretty short again, I really DO promise I'll try and write longer chapters next time. Sorry if the characters seem a bit (wildly) OOC, this was pretty hard to write (I accidentally dug myself into such a deep hole with the last chapter...). Please leave a comment and enjoy! :)

**Chapter 5**

 “I... I don't understand! Irene, what is this?” Sherlock muttered, falling against the wall, hard. His head fell forwards, into his hands. He ran his fingers through his hair before he glanced up. When he did, his eyes were brimming with tears- not that he would let them fall. He looked shell-shocked.

“Darling... He's your son. I thought that was clear, but...” Irene frowned, looking almost concerned over Sherlock's state.

“Irene. You've got some explaining to do,” John snapped, glaring at the woman as his finger stabbed just above her chest, accusationally.

“Dr. Watson...”

“John,” Sherlock muttered. He shook his head. Just slightly, a twitch of his neck. But the urgency in the movement was there. Sherlock's eyes rolled back towards the floor, dejected. “Please. Leave her.”

By this point, Irene looked truly worried for the father of her child. She strode quickly across the floor of the room, crouching by his side. She stroked his face gently and his eyes shot upwards to meet hers. She bit her lip slightly, and he smiled, just a little.

“Suppose I should have seen the signs,” he told her, one eyebrow quirked upwards. “Not in Karachi, of course, because it was then, wasn't it. And then... Oh, God, I didn't see you for nine months after he was born, did I?” Sherlock asked, looking guilty.

“You were busy,” Irene smiled. “I coped. Now, what signs were they, then?”

“Well... When we met up for the first time after Karachi, a week or so before I faked my death, you had pale marks on your stomach. I didn't really put them down to anything. You weighed a bit more- odd, a woman like you wouldn't want to let yourself get like that, you pride yourself on how you look,” he smiled quietly at her for a moment before continuing. “Um.. Right.. I spent a few days with you, you seemed anxious. Wanted to get back to him, I suppose. And then of course yesterday- you've finished losing the baby weight, of course, and yet your body hung lower, just slightly, like a mother's does after the weight and strain of a child.”

“Well, don't flatter me...” Irene muttered, almost purred, causing John to frown.

“Oh, don't worry, the rest is more positive. Your eyes are softer. Not so icy. You seem more knowledgeable- just your air. You don't act as if you're about to do something reckless at any moment, like you did before.”

Irene caught his eye and held it. He didn't look dejected or miserable any more. His expression had cleared and as he stared back at Irene his gaze was intense. He took hold of both her forearms and stood up. Irene, from her crouching position, rose with him, perfectly in sync.

 

 

***

 

Neither broke the stare for a long moment, and it would have gone on that way, had the child not chosen that moment to wake up. As his eyes flickered open he smiled slightly, making Irene glad that she'd caught her son in a good mood. Lord only knew, he could be terrible when he woke from his nap upset.

Irene crouched again, and gently scooped the boy from where he lay. She cradled him expertly, laughing to herself at Sherlock's confused expression. It was the intimacy in the way she held her child, she decided. The detective was probably certain that he could never handle his son the way Irene could.

“Here,” she muttered to Sherlock, who immediately shook his head. “Please, let me teach you. It worries you that you won't be able to hold him right, like a father would, so let me show you how to, Sherlock.” And with that, she handed the boy to him. Sherlock looked puzzled, then outright scared.

“No, Sherlock... That's right,” John told him, stepping forwards, smiling encouragement at his friend. Irene nodded.

“John. This is... My son. He's mine.” Sherlock stated, testing the words. He smiled then, his tone slightly child-like. “He's mine.”

In the end, it was John who asked the most obvious question. It was surprising to Irene that neither of them had asked it already.

“What's his name, Irene?” John asked, suddenly. Both men looked up at Irene expectantly then, Sherlock's expression mirroring John's almost as if he had been the one to ask.

“Alex,” She smiled. “Alexander Hamish William Holmes.”

“Holmes?”

“Yes, Sherlock. I was rather hoping that one day, I'd be allowed to join the Holmes family, too. It'd be rather odd then for him to be Holmes-Adler, would it not?” Irene replied, hoping Sherlock would understand the implications of her words.

“Wait a moment... Hamish? You really did name him Hamish?” John asked quickly, before Sherlock could respond. He hadn't meant to interrupt, clearly, but his question had been urgent.

_Hamish. John Hamish Watson, just, if you're looking for baby names._ Irene smiled at the memory.

“Well. Yes. I thought it suited him better as a middle name, though. And William, of course. 'William-Sherlock Scott Holmes', right darling?”

“J-John?” Sherlock muttered to his friend. “Could you... Hold Alexander, for just a moment?”

“Uh, sure. Why?” John asked, reaching out to receive the small child.

“I- I would like to kiss his mother now.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh God, this is pretty sad actually. At least, to me it is (that may have something to do with my attachment to this idea and now this baby more than the quality of writing, though...). Well, here it is. As much as I'd love it to be true, I don't think the emotions at the end of the previous chapter would last very long in Sherlock's case. This is kind of what I expect would happen in truth, but it's still painful, so be warned. Please feel free to leave a comment with what you thought! :)

**Chapter 6**

 

 “Sherlock, dear, I think we're out of milk,” Irene called out as she stood in the kitchen of 221B. The previous day had been a busy one, although it had mostly been filled with talking. Explaining. Talking their way back three and a half years and working very, _very_ slowly towards the present.

After Irene (and Sherlock) had told the tales of three and a half years of secrets, conversation turned to John. It turned out the man no longer lived at 221B, but in a rented house 10 minutes away, which he shared with his fiancé, Mary Morstan. Mary was abroad with a few friends; she'd be returning in a few days, and had encouraged John to use the week she was gone to spend time with his best friend.

“So, once I leave, Alexander will have my room. I haven't got much in there, so you can start moving his things in whenever you'd like...” John had offered.

“We're not living here.”

“What,” Sherlock had exploded. “Of course you are, I don't want him brought up in that perfect little house of yours!”

The argument had gone on for the good part of an hour, but of course somebody had to win, in the end. And so it was with regret that Irene had to ask Kate to pack for her, and to take care of the house in case one day, Irene needed to return.  
Irene hated losing.

 

***

 

Sherlock was sat in the darkness in his room, Alex asleep in a travel cot that had been set up there until John returned to his usual residence. Sherlock's fingers were steepled under his chin as he thought.

Sherlock cursed the fact that he didn't have a case on at that time. He needed a case. He needed a distraction from... all this.

He cared for Irene. Truly, he did. But he wasn't being asked to simply care. He was being asked to love this child in front of him, to raise it, and do it well. He was being asked to give up his freedom and become tied down with domesticity. He was being asked to let a part of his status slide, to have it seen to the world that he could be distracted from his work. Hell, he was even being asked to marry Irene, if her words were to be taken seriously! How could he do all that, when he wasn't even entirely sure what he felt for the woman was called love?

 

***

 

When she heard no response from him, she cautiously approached their bedroom. John had gone out a short while ago, leaving her alone with Sherlock and Alex. She hadn't heard anything from Sherlock for the last thirty minutes.

“Oh, Sherlock...” she muttered, when she saw him sitting in the dark, not looking at his son. She had been worried he may react in this way, and his initial behaviour had done nothing to reassure her. But it hadn't taken him long to calm down- he'd been smiling and bouncing his son on his knee and even humming to the boy! Surely he couldn't have relapsed into such a hopeless frame of mind; surely he couldn't have given up on her.

“I can't,” he told her simply.

“You can't what, dear?” she asked him softly, cautiously. She expected him to be emotional. It was worse than that.

“I've been considering my options, Irene, and I can't. I cannot make myself love this boy, he does not fit into my lifestyle. I can't let people think I care. I can't live some domestic, _ordinary_ life. I'll go insane. Apologies, Irene,” he told her. He sounded so formal, so... _business-like._ It broke her heart. His mind was made up, clearly. He smiled quickly at her and stood up, brushing his way past her.

“Sherlock! Wh- where are you going? You can't just do that, Sherlock.”

“Scotland Yard. I'm bored, I need a case. Back later!” he called cheerfully. His voice broke her; she didn't have the heart to respond. Less than a minute later, she heard him slam the door. He was gone; he wouldn't be back for some time now. Maybe John would come back soon- and how humiliating would that be, to be here all alone, because Sherlock Holmes didn't want to know?

And that was the thought that made Irene do something she had never done before. Not once in her life had she cried openly in front of another human being. But at that moment, she glanced at Alex, and she burst into tears.

 

***

 

“Sherlock, Irene, I'm back. I noticed we were low on milk and butter, so I bought some more...” John called as he entered the flat. His voice quickly tapered off as he heard the muffled sound of somebody trying not to cry. A woman. A thought suddenly occurred to him and he glanced at the chair where Sherlock's coat and scarf would usually be thrown over haphazardly. Missing. Shit.

John could tell the sobs were coming from Sherlock's room. As he walked into the kitchen, the door was wide open, but the light was off. A bright light pooled into the room from the kitchen, bit it wasn't enough to illuminate the shadows. From the angle that John was standing at, John was just able to see Irene's face, her features delicately picked out by the light. Tears rolled mercilessly down her cheeks.

“Oh, God, Irene...” John muttered as he practically sprinted to the room and sat beside her. “He's gone, isn't he?”

The woman nodded back silently, her usual air of confidence and control lost now as the tears cascaded down her cheeks.

 

***

 

“All right, Shezza?” a gruff voice muttered, and the door swung open. The man looked utterly stoned. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“Look, cut the crap, I've got money with me and you know why I'm here so... Just whatever.” he replied, slouching into the building.

 _Now take me away from this, from these problems,_ he thought to himself as he closed his eyes, leaning against a wall. Blocking out the light. He may be a genius. But when it came down to it, it was the only thing he knew how to do any more.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft finds Sherlock and takes him home. What he doesn't realize is that there's something else to be found, waiting inside the flat...  
> Not my best chapter, sorry if they're a bit OOC! Please feel free to leave a comment! :)

**Chapter 7**

 

John glanced at his watch. 14:45. Great.

He'd been so wrapped up in finding Sherlock over the last few days. As soon as he'd found out Sherlock was gone, he'd called Mycroft. John knew his ex-flatmate wouldn't be where he said he was, at Scotland Yard, but he didn't have the heart to tell Irene that. Besides, after about six hours and no Sherlock, it was blatantly obvious.

Sherlock's brother had searched every spot it was known that Sherlock had visited, but it wasn't easy. Sherlock wasn't known for being obvious and he wasn't known for being seen, either. No, when he wanted to be invisible, he knew just how to. He knew how to avoid the cameras, and the people who would give him away, too.

So it wasn't really a surprise to him that he had forgotten to pick Mary up from the airport that morning. But, really? He felt a wave of guilt as he imagined her stood waiting for him. He picked up his phone, then. Brilliant.

10 missed calls, two voice mail messages and a text. He listened to the messages, first.

 

_One new message. 12:10pm. John, honey, are you here? I can't see you; call back soon, yeah?_

_One new message. 12:30pm. John? Look, I'm going to get a cab, so don't worry about picking me up. Great trip, by the way._

 

He sighed, rubbing his forehead. In the second message, Mary had sounded angry and more than a bit upset. _Well done, John,_ he congratulated himself. Then, he read the text.

 

_Oh, John, what's he done? I'll be over as soon as I can. xx_

 

The message had been sent around 10 minutes ago. That meant...

“John?” Mary's voice came from the stairwell. As she entered the room, she saw John sat dejectedly in his chair and Mycroft, at the table, searching almost desperately for answers. “Oh, John...”

 

***

 

Irene sat quietly on Sherlock's bed, listening to the muffled noises outside. Her son was in her lap, fast asleep. She bit her lip, wishing she could be out there, searching with them.

John had tried to make her go; he'd done everything. She knew she should have taken Alex and got a cab back to her house, at least whilst Mycroft was sniffing around. This wasn't the right way for him to find out, as much as she disliked him.

She'd refused to go. She needed to be there when they brought him home, however drunk or high or filthy he was. She'd probably want to slap him when she saw him, she knew that. Maybe he needed that.

Now, though, she almost wished she'd listened to John. A new voice joined the two men outside the door- Mary's, she presumed. It was far, far worse being stuck in here, listening to it all, knowing that she couldn't help, couldn't even speak. She just prayed that the tense shouting wouldn't cause Alex to cry.

Mycroft had left occasionally, to go to the shop, to sleep. Usually, it would have been John doing this, but Irene knew he had insisted so that Irene could sleep, so that she and Alex could eat. Not that she could do either, of course, but her son didn't deserve this. She realized now she had been wrong to keep him here.

A shout outside her door that sounded different to the others caught her attention. It sounded strange and strangled and yet euphoric. It came from Mycroft; he called John over. Irene knew that they'd found him. She breathed out and wondered if she had been breathing at all the last few days.

 

***

 

“Sherlock!”

John's voice.

“Sherlock?”

Mycroft's.

The consulting detective groaned, feeling hazy. He wondered what day it was. The last thing he remembered was forcing himself up the stairs, being handed something. Taking it. Closing his eyes once again. Hoping this time, it would be forever.

No such luck. He felt hands on his shoulders, rolling him over to face the body they belonged to. He forced his eyes open, squinting slightly.

“John, Mycroft..”

“You bloody idiot!”

 

***

 

_Stay in his room. Just a bit longer. Promise. JW_

 

John sent the text off quickly and as subtly as he could. Sherlock narrowed his eyes at him but said nothing. Mycroft didn't see.

“You're lucky. One of my men happened to be in this area. He saw a man who looked like you approach the building a few days ago, dismissed it. When I asked him he was able to recall the event and tell me the address. So, why did you do it this time, brother mine?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and stayed sulkily quiet. The car pulled up outside 221B.

“There are people searching your flat, you know.”

“'Course. Wait... Anderson?!” Sherlock yelled, stumbling from the car and sprinting into the house, yelling. John raised his eyebrows.

“Do you think we'll find anything, John. Anywhere we should be looking.” _You'll find something, but not what you expect._ John thought to himself. “And does this, by any chance, have to do with his being re-united with Miss Adler earlier this week? Has he seen her again since then, for example?” John couldn't help but smirk at this, but he hid his expression behind a cough. Mycroft would find out soon enough.

 

***

 

Irene sat by Alex's travel cot, stroking his hair fondly, barley daring to breathe. Outside, John, Sherlock, Mycroft and Mary were having a rather heated discussion. Well, Sherlock and Mycroft were, with John chipping in every so often and Mary trying desperately to shut them all up.

Until a few minutes ago, there had also been three others. Lestrade and Anderson were the names of the men, from what she'd gathered. The woman remained nameless.

It would be okay. Mycroft would go soon. Mary would be sat down and have it explained to her. She'd be able to go out there. Maybe she'd still want to slap Sherlock. It would depend on what he said, probably.

Consoled by this thought, she allowed herself to relax just slightly. She should have known, really. Things had gone so smoothly in regards to keeping her and Alex concealed. She should have known it wouldn't last.

But really, did it have to be now, when things were nearly over, that it happened?

Surely it didn't have to be now that Alex suddenly awoke and, squeezing his eyes together, let out a noise only describable as a howl.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I guess I kind of shied away from the whole Mycroft issue in this chapter. In my defense, I found a much better way to do that part! ;) Again, sorry if it's OOC, my writing really isn't as good as I'd like it to be and that means that when I plan these chapters I forget that my writing will make them look terrible... Please feel free to leave a comment! :)

**Chapter 8**

 

 “What on earth...” Mary muttered to John, clearly able to tell where the noise was coming from.

“Sherlock? What was that?” Mycroft asked. John glared at him slightly.

“Alex!” Sherlock snapped, still not his usual self. John rolled his eyes back and walked to Sherlock's bedroom, since clearly nobody else was about to. Sherlock followed him idly. “No, you can't. Please, John.”

“Look, Sherlock,” John sighed wearily. “There's no other option. It'll be okay. I'll bring them out in a minute. And you might want to sit Mycroft down. And possibly chain him to the chair. Right...”

Irene looked up, slightly scared, when John entered. When she saw who it was, relief passed briefly through her eyes. Although the boy had a few moments ago been lying down, she now cradled him. John chose to wait until Alex stopped crying before telling her.

It only took a minute when he was in Irene's arms, but the boy still didn't exactly look cheerful. John sighed and gently took Irene's arm. Her eyes looked questioning- _now? Really?-_ but John nodded firmly, and she silently followed.

Having at least partially taken John's advice, Sherlock had firmly sat Mycroft down. However, there was nothing anyone could do to prevent him from rising sharply to his feet upon seeing Irene and the baby.

“Sherlock! Are you telling me that you are living with an ex-dominatrix and her illegitimate son?” Mycroft asked, his voice dangerously soft.

“No.”

“No? Then why exactly are they here?”

“They are living here.”

“Well what exactly do you mean, no?”

“I _mean,_ I'm living with an ex-dominatrix and _our_ illegitimate son.”

 

***

 

A smile passed over Irene's lips when he said that. She wasn't entirely sure he had changed his mind and yet she most certainly didn't feel the need to slap him any longer. In fact, if it wasn't for Mycroft's furious expression and Mary's look of hidden enjoyment, she probably would have followed through with her word from three and a half years ago, in that very room. _Twice,_ she remembered, the thought causing her to smirk slightly.

Mycroft stared at Sherlock for a moment, then at Irene. The room suddenly turned very, very icy.

“This is your child?” Mycroft asked, although Sherlock and Irene's guilty exchanged glances had already answered that question. Mycroft closed his eyes for a moment, regaining his composure, and walked from the room. They could clearly hear him yelling down the phone, and then he slammed the front door and there was silence.

 

***

 

Mary was the first to break the silence. She looked at Sherlock and gave a slightly shaky giggle.

“You were right. You really haven't got a clue about human nature, do you?” Sherlock smiled at this.

“Believe it or not, I didn't plan on telling him like this. I was rather hoping we could do this sometime...” he paused, unsure what to say.

“When you're not high?” Irene snapped, anger rising within her again. She set Alex down and was about to stride over to Sherlock when the boy made his own way towards his father and threw himself around his knees. “Alexander, leave him alone. Daddy's filthy.”

Sherlock stared at her for a moment and, once again, the anger dulled, causing Irene to wonder if she would ever have control of her emotions again. _Not like this,_ she decided, _not when both the most perfect and the most damaged man in the world is staring at me like that._

“I'm filthy?” Sherlock laughed at her, causing her to roll her eyes.

“And there I was thinking you were about to declare your love for me...”

“I love you,” he replied, quirking an eyebrow. Even though his tone was light, the intensity in his eyes made her believe he meant it.

“Oh?” he smiled and, carefully peeling Alex off him, walking slowly towards her. He stopped right in front of her and the breath caught in her throat. He leant down as though he was going to kiss her. And then, at the last minute, he walked past her.

“Where are you off to?” she asked, trying desperately not to sound like his teasing had affected her.

“Shower!” he replied cheerfully.

“Might I join you?”

“Why would you want to do that?”

“Well, you said I was filthy too,” she called, enjoying their conversation now.

“I don't think a shower's going to change that in your case, Miss Adler!”

“Might I give it a chance anyway?”

There was a pause before he replied. He had reached the bathroom door by this point and, with one hand on the door, he suddenly turned to look at the four people in his living room. John was smirking slightly; Mary looked confused. Alex had distracted himself by climbing onto Sherlock's chair and was now giggling for no apparent reason. And Irene stood, staring him straight in the eye, as if he'd never turned his back at all.

“Be my guest,” he smirked.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Sherlock's disappearance. I really am bad at writing this bit. Uh.  
> Feel free to leave a comment!! :3

**Chapter 9**

 

 “Sherlock, darling,” Irene called, handing Alex a bottle of juice.

“Yeah?”

“We need to talk.”

“About?”

“What happened.”

“Why?”

Irene sighed. This might be difficult. Sherlock seemed to have forgotten what he'd said, but there was no guarantee that he was being genuine with her. Nothing to say it wouldn't happen again.

“Because I need to know whether you meant it.”

At that, Sherlock appeared from their room, buttoning his shirt as he walked. His hair was still damp from the shower. Irene smiled.

“I was shocked. I had a lot of things to consider and I needed to think...”

“So you told me you wouldn't stay with me and help raise Alex and ran away to a crack den?” Irene struggled to keep her tone casual, knowing that John and Mary were downstairs with Mrs. Hudson. The last thing she wanted was a shouty argument for them to be forced to listen to.

“I am sorry, you know,” he muttered.

“Yes, but did you mean it? Will it happen again?”

“I feel regretful about my actions and am truly sorry. It was a one-off occurrence and-”

“Now tell me the truth, Sherlock,” Irene whispered, sadly.

“I don't know. But I will try, Irene, I will try and be strong. I won't lie, yes I did mean what I said to you but there was a lot in my head that made me think that and now I've decided that I can deal with those things. I'm thinking of it as an experiment; a lifelong experiment to see how durable I am as a person...” he paused. “And whether even I can learn to do what is for me the unthinkable and love with all my heart.”

Irene smiled. She knew this was the truth, despite the words being different from Sherlock's usual attitude. After all, Alexander had changed her; he would most likely change Sherlock too. For the better.

Sherlock stepped towards where Irene stood, Alex sat on a chair next to her. His shirt was now fully buttoned and he ruffled his hair slightly, causing a few last droplets to be shaken free. He smiled lightly at her.

“I don't think the shower did the trick, you know,” he said casually.

“No?”

“Nah.”

He now stood about a foot away from her. She thought he would come towards her. He didn't. He stepped their son, breaking eye contact from her.

“Hello, Alex,” he smiled softly. Then, he realized he was smiling, and stopped. But Irene had seen it. She knew he cared.

“That's daddy, Alex. Remember, I told you about him? Daddy.”

“Daddy...” Alex said, smiling cheekily at his parents. “Detec'ive?”

Sherlock nodded and smiled. “Thank you,” he muttered to Irene, and leaned over to her. “And I bloody hope you haven't taught him _your_ job titles!”

 

***

 

“So Sherlock has a child? And, so, this isn't a new thing, either. Because this was three and a half years ago that this started, right?”

“Well, it could have started sooner, but yeah, basically.”

“Sherlock knew Irene for a while before then, dear. Very upset when she died. Not that he'd admit it. Cup of tea?” Mrs. Hudson smiled. “Oh- sorry! She pretended to die so she didn't get killed... I suppose those two were made for one another, weren't they?”

Mary smiled and took the cup from the landlady. “John?”

“Hmm?”

“I'm never going on holiday again. Not if this is what I miss,” she said, making John chuckle.

“This is going to be weird, you know,” the man said, almost to himself. “I've never seen Sherlock out of his comfort zone before. Well, I mean, the fall, obviously, but I guess he was acting. But... he's going to have to keep repeating that feeling now. Telling everyone. Lestrade. His parents- if he's even in contact with them, I've never met them.”

Mary smiled. “Not nearly as uncomfortable as his brother looked, I don't think.”

 

***

 

“Ahem.”

“Mycroft! Ah, you came back then?”

“Sadly, I had to. I had some people to... Pick up first, though,” Mycroft smiled oddly and walked into the room. Sherlock frowned. And then his parents walked in frowning in a manner that was both confused and delighted.

“Mycroft, why are our parents here?” Sherlock snapped, stepping away from the chair where a sleeping toddler lay. He glanced at it nervously for a moment, but then stepped forwards to greet his parents. He heard Irene moving in his room- after Alex had fallen asleep, she'd gone to unpack her things, which had apparently been delivered some time in his absence.

“Sherlock, who is it? I thought Mary and John had gone home... Ah. Mycroft. Pleased to see you again,” Irene purred, then stepped fully into the living room. “And these are?”

“My parents. You've changed!”

“Well, yes. I've been wearing the few things that Mary left here since I arrived. Your parents?” Irene frowned, obviously finding this meeting far more important than Sherlock seemed to be.

“Yes. My parents. I did say that, did I not?” Mycroft cleared his throat, bringing the couple's attention back to Sherlock's relatives. “Well. I'm guessing you'd like to ask a few questions, then...”

Irene sat in John's chair and Sherlock smiled, gently lifting his son from where he slept in his chair before sitting down himself. He sat the boy on his lap, supporting his body so that Alex did not slump uncomfortably. The gentleness of the gesture clearly made Mycroft uncomfortable. Which, in turn, made Sherlock immensely happy, of course.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay. I will say it now. When you read this, it WILL seem out of character. It WILL be wildly fluffy. It is probably the sweetest I have ever written Sherlock (I've written a lot of fanfic that I haven't posted yet). But I hope you like it anyway! :)

**Chapter 10**

 

Sherlock shut the door on his parents and his brother, Mycroft. _Finally._

Whatever Mycroft had been planning, it had backfired. Irene had acted the perfect mother and partner, and even Alex had been the model child, only crying once. _Quite the perfect little family,_ Mycroft had muttered as he left. He clearly thought it wouldn't last. Which, of course, made Sherlock all the more determined to make it work.

When Sherlock had left, he _had_ been convinced it wouldn't work. But then, a woman who was supposed to be dead, a woman he had scarcely seen in years, _had_ shown up with Sherlock's child! How was he supposed to react?

He smiled to himself. Now, looking at The Woman and their son, he knew what he wanted, and what he was going to keep on wanting.

That boy was a blank canvas. He could become anything. Considering that his parents were a sociopathic detective and an ex-sex worker, Sherlock should probably be worried about that little fact. But maybe, instead of making the worst out of their combined assets, they could give Alex the best. Sherlock's observational skills, his intelligence in general, too. And from Irene, Alex could gain confidence and people skills. They just had to give him the right rules, look at him the right way, every time. They just had to be perfect. So it was a good job Sherlock was a perfectionist.

 

***

 

“Sherlock?” John muttered, glancing at his clock, his eyes glazed with sleep. It was 6AM.

“John,” Sherlock said. “John, can I ask you something?”

“Uh, sure...”

“How do I make pancakes?”

“What?!”

“Pancakes. How do I make them?”

“Oh God Sherlock, look it up on the bloody internet, it's six in the morning!”

“Okay, okay... Wait.”

“What?”

“Come over at 12PM precisely. Bring flowers and a congratulations card addressed to Irene and I. Understood? Right then, goodbye!” Sherlock said cheerfully, before hanging up, leaving John laying in bed with confusion etched into his sleep-filled face.

 

***

 

“Irene?” Sherlock muttered softly to the sleeping woman. “Irene, it's 9:30AM, Alex is downstairs with Mrs. Hudson. I have a surprise for you.”

Irene's eyes fluttered open and she smiled sleepily. She pulled Sherlock slightly closer to her, leaning to kiss him. He laughed slightly and shook his head at her, standing and stretching to reach his door. He handed her a dressing gown. His. Despite the fact that she had hers here now, she still preferred to wear his.

“Take a shower, put something nice on and be me in the kitchen in fifteen minutes, darling,” Sherlock smiled at her, before leaving the room.

When Irene emerged from their bedroom again wearing a cream woollen jumper and skinny jeans (which, Sherlock noted, suited her perfectly... like most things did), he slid a plate of pancakes towards her, with lemon juice drizzled and sugar sprinkled on top.

“How do you know I like lemon? I could hate it...” she teased.

“Yeah, you don't though. I know you, remember?”

“Do you?”

“Darling I know people after two minutes. With the time I've spent with you, I could tell you your life story, backwards.”

She smiled at him, and picked up the knife and fork he pushed towards her.

“So, why the special breakfast?” she smiled at him. He smiled.

“I'm not saying anything until we've finished these...” he smiled, pointing at the pancakes.

 

***

 

Irene smiled at him. They had both finished their breakfast. Now it was time for her to find out what on earth this was all about.

“Well, darling?...”

Sherlock looked... _Nervous._ Really nervous. What was this about. Oh God, he hadn't changed his mind, had he?

Sherlock led her to the chairs. Now that John was gone, she supposed that his chair would be hers. They'd have to get one for Alex. _If we're still here,_ she thought before she could stop herself.

And then Sherlock leant forwards, grazed his lips over her forehead, and then leant his in that same spot. He spoke, his voice barely a whisper.

“Look... Irene... I'm a consulting detective. I'm going to be busy. I might not always be in the house. I might be gone for weeks, I may be, as John has informed he, heartless, ignorant, and probably anything else you can imagine...” he swallowed then, and leaned back. _Dilated pupils,_ Irene noted with an inward smiled. “What I'm trying to say is, I will be a nightmare to live with and I want you to consider my next question very carefully because once you have answered, I'm afraid I won't be able to let you take it back...” he smiled.

“Yes, Sherlock?” Irene muttered softly to him.

“Okay. Well. Um.” he swallowed. “Irene, I truly believe I love you as much as is possible for me to do, and Alex too, and I would like to... to ask you... Irene, would you like... to marry me?”


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

 

“Sherlock,” John's voice came over the phone. “We're going to leave in five minutes, what the hell am I supposed to write in this card?”

“Ah, John,” Sherlock said, smiling down the phone line as he watched his fiancé putting together a puzzle with Alex. “Well, just write something like 'congratulations and best wishes for the future', I don't know!”

“Yes, but what am I congratulating you _for,_ Sherlock?” John spoke slowly, as though he was talking to a child. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“You'll see when you get here. Better get in the car now, John, hmm?” he spoke before hanging up. Irene glanced up at him and smiled.

“Important phone call, darling?”

“Nothing too special, no,” he replied, walking back into the room from the hall. He crouched behind Irene and put one hand lovingly on her shoulder as he passed Alex a piece. “That goes there...” he pointed.

“Alex is meant to be doing this, not you, you know!” she laughed. He rolled his eyes, but his smile didn't falter.

 

***

 

Baker Street was fairly busy; it took John a while to park.

“Maybe she's pregnant again,” Mary suggested.

“I bloody hope not, she's barely been back a week. She wouldn't know that soon.”

“Well, do you have any idea, any at all, why we're giving them flowers and a milk tray and a congratulations card, then?”  
“No. It's Sherlock. Why would I know?”

They finally found a parking space and pulled into it. Mary smiled tensely at him as they made their way towards Baker Street. John still had a key- he was welcome any time, apparently. He fitted it into the lock and pushed the door open.

“John, Mary. Come up!” he heard Sherlock call down, as though he was likely to do otherwise. Mrs. Hudson came out of her flat then.

“Oh, isn't it exciting, John!” she half-squealed.

“Well, it might be if I knew what it was,” he replied, then began climbing the stairs. When he walked in, he couldn't help but smile a little to see his best friend with his arm around his partner, guiding their son as the boy locked the final piece into a puzzle.

Then Sherlock noticed their presence and stood up, walking to stand by John.

“Well?” he muttered, holding the card and the box of chocolates behind his back, whilst Mary did the same with the flowers. “What am I congratulating you for?”

“Completing the puzzle,” Sherlock smiled. “The puzzle of me and Irene. Because I really didn't think we had a piece left that fitted, but it turns out we do...”

John frowned at the riddled way his friend spoke. Sherlock helped his partner up from the floor and took a deep breath, looking slightly nervous. Then, he took her left hand in his right one and extended it to show John.

A single diamond set in the centre of a white gold ring. Tiny, pale blue jewels twisting away from the diamond.

An engagement ring.

 

***

 

“Sh... Sherlock... Oh my God,” John muttered, smiling at his best friend, a shocked frown. Then, John put the chocolates, the card, down on the table and he pulled the taller man into a tight hug.

Irene observed with a small smile, and then Mary got over the surprise, too, and there was a bouquet with roses and lilies and chrysanthemums being thrust into her arms.

In the very short space of time Irene had known Mary, she had grown fond of the other woman. Mary seemed very _normal,_ the picture of domesticity. She complimented John perfectly and Irene had to say she'd always liked John, too. So she smiled and held the flowers out of the way to pull the woman into a one-armed hug, squealing with her.

When she pulled away from Mary, Alex was at her heels, wondering what all the fuss was about. She smiled and handed the other woman back the flowers so that she could pick her son up. Then, Sherlock pulled away from John, looking proud, and the man handed him the card. He grinned and gave Alex the box of chocolates, instead.

“Just one or two, they're supposed to be for your mum and dad,” Mary muttered to the boy, smiling.

“So... Did you know?” Irene asked John, smiling.

“If you count being called at 6AM and asked how to cook pancakes and then told to bring a card and flowers,” John replied, making Irene smile even harder. Was that actually possible?

 

***

 

Sherlock observed the scene in front of him slightly amused. Alex was on the chair, his mouth ringed with chocolate. Irene and Mary were chatting in the kitchen as they prepared the flowers. Sherlock caught John's eye and held contact for a moment. Then, they were both laughing. _How absurd this is,_ Sherlock thought. Me _, with a child, and engaged. John doesn't even have a child yet!_

John smiled, still giggling slightly, and Sherlock grinned back at him.

“I'm proud of you, Sherlock,” John told him, surprisingly sincerely. Sherlock smiled, glancing over at Alex.

“Thank you,” he said, then paused. “Although perhaps you could make a mental note. Never hand Alexander Holmes a box full of chocolates again!”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Totally fluffy, probably OOC but to be honest... I don't care any more this stuff is too sweet! ;) This is the final chapter in this story, but I am making it into a series, so there will be more!   
> Please feel free to leave a comment with what you though! :)

**Chapter 12**

 

 Sherlock took a deep breath. It was the wedding day. Their big day. It was here so quickly; how could it be here so quickly?

Since he had proposed, 14 months had passed. He had been there this time when Alexander's third birthday came. They had celebrated John and Mary's wedding and with it, the excellent news that Mary was pregnant; then came the baby, of course, a girl named Alicia.

And now it was here; their turn in the limelight, Sherlock and Irene's. It didn't matter that the attention would be unwanted- it would be coming thick and fast, despite the fact that there would be only around 40 guests.

It seemed pointless trying to scrape around for any more; those 40 people had been hard enough to find! There was Mrs. Hudson, and a few of her friends coming (including a crestfallen Mrs. Turner, who had been hoping for a second pair of 'married ones' on Baker Street), Lestrade. John, of course. Mary. Alicia. Mycroft was being literally forced into a suit by Sherlock's parents, and Irene's widowed mother and sister were going to attend.

Since Irene had been able to re-reveal herself, she had actually made a few friends. Mostly, they still weren't the 'normal' people you might expect a toddler's mum to have, but it was progress. She was socializing. The world didn't think of her in the same light now, which pleased Sherlock. Irene was Sherlock Holmes' fiancé, mother to his son, and that was the reason for her minor fame, these days.

The rest of the guests were made up of people they knew from the past, Sherlock mainly, but Irene too. People like Mike Stamford. Irene's old friends from school. That sort of thing. And the ones they had met as a couple. Not friends, as such. But acquaintances, people they saw every so often. And that was enough for them.

“Ready, Sherlock?”

“I should hope so.”

***

 

Irene sat on a stall in her house, letting Kate do her make-up. For once, the woman didn't ask, but instead went ahead with her own judgements. Irene trusted her. Amongst other things, the woman was a trained beautician. But more importantly, she was Irene's oldest friend. At many points, she'd been her only one, too.

Mary was checking on a sleeping Alicia, or attempting too, anyway, whilst Alexander half-clung to her leg. It was clear that Mary didn't mind, but even so Irene called Alex away. She smiled at her son, a slight worry in her eyes. Just the tiniest bit. But Alex was a clever boy. He could detect his mother or father's emotions, Irene knew that (although, of course, Sherlock's were much harder to spot) and so Irene couldn't pretend it wasn't there.

Alex could have assumed it was down to the wedding. He knew it wasn't, of course he did- she loved Sherlock and she wasn't the type to be nervous at this sort of thing.

“Not long Alex, I promise you,” she whispered to the boy. Not long until he could tell the secret that they had shared together for the last week. She'd been saving it, savouring it, waiting to give her fiancé his wedding gift from her. The news.

Mary came back then with a now awake Alicia, and Alex broke their gaze to stare innocently at Mary. Irene grinned, causing Kate to his slightly in frustration. She laughed, but managed to keep herself still for Kate somehow.

“Not long now,” Mary said.

“It's show-time,” Irene agreed, gazing out the window of the stately home she was about to tie the knot in. She smiled harder when she saw her husband's parked car. The men had been here about half an hour, whereas she, Mary, Kate and the children had stayed over night.

“Ready?” Kate asked, nodding at the dress.

“Now or never,” Irene replied.

 

***

 

“And you may now kiss the bride.”

Sherlock smiled at Irene... At his wife.

“Shall we?” she replied, a response to the silent, secretive words of his expression, her voice barely a whisper. Sherlock was more than happy to comply.

And then they were outside the manor house, having photographs taken. He smiled as his brother scanned the crowds carefully. Sherlock had finally agreed to let Mycroft be the wedding security, since his powers of deduction and intelligence levels matched Sherlock's in many ways.

He smiled as Alex stepped forwards shyly with the other guests for a group photo. Mary had held his hand until she had to join the photo alongside Kate, John, Irene's mother and Sherlock's parents. The boy tugged loosely at Sherlock's jacket, and the man complied by bending to lift him as though it were the most natural thing in the world. _That wouldn't have happened a a little over a year ago,_ Sherlock thought to himself, amused. What of this would have done, anyway?

 

***

 

John watched as Sherlock and Irene danced together, holding their son between them. He nudged Mary as he saw the smiles on their faces. She nodded, smiling back at John. Right. He was meant to be dancing, too.

John still couldn't get over how happy his best friend was, with this- a wife, a small child. It had never, _never_ seemed like his sort of thing, and yet... Now, it seemed like the perfect life, the _only_ life, for the detective. Sherlock never ceased to amaze him.

 

***

 

“What is it, Alex?” his dad muttered gently to Alex. The dancing was over now, most people were leaving. Alex knew that a few were staying overnight; his grandparents and Uncle Mycroft, his Nana, Kate, Uncle John, Auntie Mary and baby Alicia. The party was fading out now, a smattering of people still around. He had tugged his over to a table, looking as excited as he felt.

“Can I mum?” he begged, his eyes wide.

“Well, Alex, I was going to...” his mum replied, looking slightly flustered.

“Please?!”

“Okay, Alexander. Go ahead.”

“Is anybody going to tell me-” his dad interrupted, looking a little annoyed. That made Alex laugh slightly, for a moment, before he calmed himself.

“Daddy... Mummy said we would tell you today... and we've only known five days, me and mummy, and I wasn't meant to know, really... telling you today is a wedding present...”

“Spit it out, Alex!” his mum teased. He glanced at his dad, and suddenly the three of them were tangled in a hug.

“Thank you, both of you. That's the best wedding present ever.”

“Dad! You're not meant to de'uce! I was going to tell you!” Alex wailed half-heartedly.

“Okay, Alexander. You still can. Go on. I'm listening,”

“You and mummy are going to have a baby- a really little one, smaller than Alicia!” Alex exclaimed proudly.

“Thank you,” Sherlock repeated, and folded his family into a hug once more.


End file.
